[The Courtyard—House Veyrath—Continuation]
The courtyard had barely recovered from Ravian’s latest display of affection when Ilyra’s challenge settled over it.
For a moment, Vaerun and the Imperial Commander regarded one another in silence. The laughter died around them. Even the servants seemed to sense that something had changed.
Vaerun held out his hand.
"A blade."
An attendant hurried forward with a practice sword. Vaerun accepted it, tested its balance, then turned toward Ilyra.
She had already drawn her own. Seyra’s smile faded.
The attendants cleared the courtyard. Bronze lamps were carried from the paving stones. Servants withdrew beneath the arches, but none left. They watched with the stillness of people who had seen this before and knew better than to interrupt.
Vaerun removed his outer robe and handed it away. Beneath it, his dark tunic was fastened at the shoulder with a bronze clasp shaped like a winged lion. He rolled his wrist once. The blade whispered through the air.
Ilyra lowered into her stance.
Ravian clasped his hands beneath his chin. "Ah. I’ve missed this."
"You used to hide behind a pillar," Ilyra said.
"I was providing tactical support."
"You screamed when Vaerun’s sword passed your ear."
"It was a very sharp sword!"
Seyra glanced at the two armed adults. "Does everyone in this household communicate by trying to hit each other?"
"Not everyone," Vaerun said.
Ilyra’s mouth curved. "Not yet."
The bronze bell rang.
Ilyra moved first; her blade drove straight for Vaerun’s throat. He turned it aside at the last instant.
CLANG!
The impact rang through the courtyard, hard enough to make Seyra’s teeth ache. Ilyra followed with a cut toward his ribs, then a thrust beneath his guard. Vaerun twisted away from the first and knocked the second wide.
The third strike came for his face; he caught it, and steel shrieked against steel.
For one suspended heartbeat, their blades locked between them. Ilyra leaned into the bind, forcing Vaerun’s sword back toward his own chest. His boots scraped over the stone. The muscles in his forearm tightened.
Then he broke the lock with a sharp turn of his wrist and drove her away; neither smiled now. Ilyra attacked again, faster. Her sword flashed high, then dropped toward his knee. Vaerun shifted just beyond its reach, but the tip still sliced through the hem of his tunic.
Seyra’s fingers curled into her sleeves.
’This isn’t a practice...It’s an open war.’
Vaerun’s next strike came with enough force to drive Ilyra back three steps. She caught it, but the impact jolted her arm. Before she could recover, he cut toward her shoulder.
Ilyra ducked; the blade passed over her head. She turned beneath it and struck for the gap beneath his arm.
Vaerun barely twisted away; the sword tore through his tunic, and a thin red line appeared against his skin.
Seyra stopped breathing.
Ilyra saw the blood. For the briefest instant, her eyes flicked toward it.
Vaerun used that instant, and he struck her blade aside and stepped in close. His shoulder drove into her chest; the force sent her stumbling. She caught herself before she fell, but Vaerun was already advancing.
CLANG!
Their swords collided again.
Ilyra’s blade slid down his, searching for his hand. Vaerun released his grip with one hand and turned the weapon before she could trap it. She slashed for his wrist. He pulled back; the edge cut through the leather at his cuff.
The courtyard had gone utterly still; no one cheered and no one laughed.
Seyra watched them with a cold knot tightening beneath her ribs. They weren’t trying to impress one another. They were finding the places where a body could fail: throat, ribs, wrist, knee, and striking without hesitation.
Ilyra feinted toward his shoulder.
Vaerun didn’t take the bait; she changed direction and lunged for his heart. He turned the thrust aside, but the force carried her past his guard. In the same motion, he caught her wrist, twisted, and brought his sword up beneath her jaw.
The blade stopped against her throat.
Ilyra froze.
Vaerun’s breath was steady. A bead of blood slid from the cut beneath his arm and disappeared into the dark fabric of his tunic, and for a long moment, neither moved.
Then Ilyra slowly lowered her sword.
"Your point," Vaerun said.
Her gaze held his. "You hesitated."
"I didn’t."
"You saw the blood."
"I saw you."
Something passed between them, old knowledge, sharp and private. Then Ilyra’s mouth curved, and Vaerun withdrew his blade. Only then did the courtyard breathe again.
Ravian threw both arms into the air. "Beautiful!"
Seyra turned on him. "You look like you’re watching a wedding."
"I’m watching two people who understand each other."
"They nearly killed each other."
"Sometimes that’s how they communicate."
Seyra looked back at Vaerun and Ilyra. The cut on his arm was small, and it still made her stomach twist.
’So... this is how Veyraths communicate?’
Ilyra rolled her shoulder, testing the ache beneath it. Vaerun’s gaze flicked to the blood darkening his sleeve.
"Again?" she asked.
"You’re the one who came here looking for a duel."
"I came looking for a challenge."
"Then stop talking."
Her smile vanished, and the bell rang a second time. Ilyra came at him hard.
Her first strike crashed against Vaerun’s guard. The second drove him sideways. On the third, she feinted high and cut low, forcing him to wrench his leg out of the path of her blade. He answered with a thrust aimed at her center. Ilyra twisted away, but the point caught the edge of her breastplate and tore free with a shriek of metal.
Seyra’s hands flew to her mouth.
The duel had changed. There was no teasing now, no room for a careless step. Each strike came close enough to end the fight, and each time, the other found a way to survive it.
CLANG!
Vaerun’s sword struck Ilyra’s with brutal force. Her grip shifted. He pressed forward, driving her back across the stones.
She gave ground once and twice, and then she stopped. Ilyra caught his next blow, turned beneath it, and slammed her shoulder into his chest. Vaerun staggered. Her sword flashed toward his throat.
He caught her wrist.
For an instant, they were locked together, their blades crossed between them. Ilyra’s teeth bared with effort. Vaerun’s injured arm trembled, blood slipping from beneath his sleeve.
"Your arm," she hissed.
"Your opening."
He twisted,, and Ilyra’s sword tore from her grasp and skidded across the courtyard. At the same moment, Vaerun’s blade slipped from his blood-slick fingers.
It struck the stones with a sharp, ringing
CLANG!
Both weapons lay beyond their reach; neither moved. Ilyra had one hand twisted in Vaerun’s tunic. His forearm was braced across her collarbone, holding her back. Her other hand was pressed against the side of his throat, not quite a strike, not quite a warning.
One more movement, and either of them could have broken the other’s hold. Seyra couldn’t breathe, and the courtyard had gone silent. Even Ravian’s hands had fallen to his sides.
Vaerun looked down at Ilyra’s fingers against his throat. Ilyra looked at the blood running along his arm.
Then, slowly, they released each other, the bell rang a third time, and the duel was over.
Ilyra stepped back first. Vaerun did the same, his expression unreadable, though his breathing had deepened. The servants remained frozen beneath the arches, staring at the two blades lying on the stones.
Ravian finally let out a breath.
"Was that a draw?"
"No," Ilyra said.
Vaerun glanced at Ilyra. "We both lost our weapons. That makes it a draw."
He nodded, and Seyra stared at them, appalled. "What great... communication skills."
Ravian’s face softened as he turned to his wife. "Honey, you did well. I’m so proud of you."
Seyra watched him with disbelief as love sparkles seemed to strike her from every direction. "Until now, I thought you liked my papa."
Ravian froze, then his expression twisted into something close to disgust. "Why would I like the Azram? I’m not a fool, my lady."
Seyra’s eyes gleamed. "Then are you saying Malik is a fool?"
. . .
. . .
The color drained from Ravian’s face as he whispered, "My lady, why is talking to you so difficult?"
"People should be difficult, Ravian."
He opened his mouth and closed it in disbelief. Ravian had apparently lost not only the duel’s weapons but also every remaining word in his possession. Seyra giggled, delighted with herself.
Then she noticed Vaerun wiping the sweat from his brow; she hurried over and patted his leg with all the solemn pride her small body could manage.
"I’m proud of you, Papa. I understand now why people are scared of you."
Vaerun’s expression softened; he lowered himself until they were eye to eye.
"This is how strong you must become, Seyra. You cannot depend on your elemental beasts for everything. You must be strong without them, too." His voice grew quieter. "As my successor, you must remember that."
Seyra blinked.
"Are you really going to make me your successor, Papa?"
"I decided that moment I wrote your name into the family tree."
For a heartbeat, she looked almost moved, then her eyes narrowed with sudden calculation. "Then why don’t you hand over your treasure now?"
. . .
. . .
Silence settled over the courtyard.
Seyra blinked. Vaerun blinked, then he reached out and pinched her cheeks.
"You must prove why I chose you as my successor; it is not handed over whenever you want."
"Ow! Papa, it hurts!"
"Then stop trying to rob me."
"I was asking about my inheritance!"
"You were demanding it."
Seyra rubbed her cheeks, muttering under her breath. Vaerun rose, his mouth curved in the faintest smile. Ilyra watched them, warmth easing into her expression.
"It’s good," she said quietly. "He has someone in his life."
Ravian glanced at Vaerun, who was now listening to Seyra explain why a responsible father should provide his daughter with a proper treasure chest.
"It’s still odd to see him smile," Ravian murmured.
Ilyra looked at him, then back at Vaerun, her expression slowly paled.
"It’s true."
Seyra, still arguing about the treasure chest, failed to notice the two adults staring at her father as though they had witnessed a second miracle.
The first, apparently, had been Vaerun smiling, the second was that he had survived becoming a father to Seyra Veyrath.